Breathe
by Perplexity'sDaughter
Summary: VB Set in Bulma's POV during those "3 years" Bulma reminisces about how she and Vegeta came to be. Read & discover the epic tale about how two drastically different & stubborn people find a way to look beyond the demons of their past & learn how to love.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I obviously do NOT own DBZ or any of its characters so this will be the first and last time you hear me say it.

AN: This is a "three years story". We begin our story soon after Vegeta has left, along with the rest of the fighters, to save Earth from the Androids. Will be told through Bulma's eyes, from her point of view.

Breathe

Prologue

"Good morning, beautiful." I whisper, my voice hushed and soft in the otherwise silent room. I caress my sleeping child's plump, pink cheek; my fingers brush tenderly over his feather soft skin. Running my hands through his silky lavender hair, I twirl my fingers through each precious tendril. A small sigh escapes his lips, and I smile. Even now, slumbering so peacefully, he reminds me of his father. Tears form in the corners of my eyes, and I can feel the familiar lump begin to rise in my throat.

Delicate rays of sunshine pierce the darkness of the room as dawn nears ever closer. I shakily wipe the hot, burning tears from my face and move slowly to the window. _Where are you? Where are you?_

Resolve gives way to pain, and I sob quietly to myself as I stare out into the endless morning sky. How many times have I stood here, in this every spot, and have done this very thing? Morning after morning, day after day, night after night, since he has been gone. Since he left to fight for us all. To save me...to save our son. To save humanity in all its righteous glory.

There is a deep, dark emptiness in me because he is not here. Inside myself, I long for nothing but to see him again, to know that he is alright, to know he is alive. On the outside, I must stay strong, I must have the facade of an unbroken woman. I must take care of my son.

The war inside my soul, however, rages on. Every seemingly endless day drones on until the sleepless nights, where I only sit and pray that he will return to me. Hour after hour, until the morning comes to begin another endless day.

I love him more than I ever thought possible. Before him I didn't even know what it was to love, to want to give everything you had, all of yourself just because you wanted to. Just to make them happy.

But how many precious days did I throw away foolishly because I was too stubborn to admit to myself that I loved him, that I will always love him? I took for granted that he was so close; I told myself I would have plenty of time for him later. I thought he would be around forever. Now I realize, all to late, what little time I really had.

_What if he doesn't come back? What if all the training, all the praying, all the hoping was for naught? What if my son never has his real father? The tears come back again, spilling slowly down my cheeks, and splashing silently to the floor. What if today is his last?_

I can still remember the first time I met him, all those years ago. His devilishly sexy smirk, his arrogant swagger. Despite the circumstances, something in me knew I was connected to him some way, although back then I was too naive to understand. Then, he was the enemy, he was the demon we fought against. He was Prince Vegeta of the Saiyans.

He was an evil, ruthless murderer with nothing but hate in his black, empty heart. He killed for sport and he tortured for a quick laugh. Somehow that all changed, however. Sometimes I like to think I had something to do with it. I gave him reason to break away from his haunting past, and yes, even taught him how to love.

How could I have known, that day when I invited him to live with me, that it would lead both of us together, that he would be the father of my son? That I would fall in love with his everything?

Sighing, I tear myself to break away from my reverie and once again wipe the stinging tears from my face. The sun has completely risen now, and I can hear the soft chirp of the birds outside. I check on my son in his cradle on the far right of the room, then lay down on the bed, not even bothering to get under the covers. The cold I feel can't be satisfied by fabric.

I stare at the emptiness there, where he used to be. Closing my eyes, I imagine that he's still there, holding me like he'd never let go, and remember how it all happened...how it all began...

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**AN: ** I am re-publishing this this story and fixing the mistakes. It has been 3 years since I worked on this story, and after many false starts, I would truly like to finish it this time. Please review and tell me what you think. I appreciate everyone's opinion.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Reveries

"I hate you." I whisper dejectedly into my own reflection. Sighing, I rake my delicate, manicured fingers through the heaping mass of aqua curls that bounce, almost teasingly, around the frame of my face. Apparently, perms are not my thing. "Just another one of Bulma's bright ideas." everyone said. I smiled and went along with their happy banter because, in truth, part of me was glad just to see everyone laughing again.

But another part of me, the deeper, more secluded part, cringed at every joke and good-natured jibe. _Good one, Bulma. They'll never respect you; you're nothing but a stupid little fucking whore. You think they keep you around for your intelligence? You're lucky you're rich. _

"Why DID I get that stupid perm anyway?" I ask myself angrily. "I can't imagine what possessed me to do such a thing…"

_Liar._

A thousand pent-up memories and emotions flash before my eyes as I reluctantly recall the events of the past week.

Yamcha…

It was supposed to be a surprise. Things between us had started to grow cold as the gleaming newness of his revival with the Dragonballs once again returned to that familiar monotony. Nothing a new red nightie and bottle of expensive wine couldn't fix, surely.

A smile painted on my freshly lipsticked lips, I grabbed my copy of his key and entered Yamcha's plush, upscale apartment with full certainty that the night would go exactly as planned.

When not away battling some evil monster or another, it wasn't unusual to find Yamcha lounging on his luscious leather couch watching a boxing-match with a half-eaten pizza and a tepid beer as his only companions. He may be one of Earth's valiant warriors, but he was still a man.

That night was different, however. The lights were off and, surprisingly, so was the TV. Fumbling for the light switch in the foyer, I noticed a strange red leather jacket hanging on the coat hook by the door. Although I never knew Yamcha to be the leather coat type, he did have those black leather couches; perhaps he was experimenting with his style.

It seemed likely enough.

Moving on through the living room, I wondered silently about Yamcha's absence. "Maybe he turned in early." I thought, and proceeded toward the bedroom. As I approached the door, a soft moan permeated the eerie silence. Yamcha? Maybe he's hurt!

I quickly opened the door, hoping my dear Yamcha was only having a nightmare.

"Wha…BULMA?"

There, amidst the ebony silk sheets, lay a beautiful naked woman, her long, golden hair floating about her head in lustrous tight curls. Above her was Yamcha, also naked, with a look of pure shock on his face.

"Bulma…"he stammered, "I can explain…"

_Not again._

Turning away, I wordlessly leave the room and close the door behind me. When I reach the foyer, I calmly sit the wine and shopping bag on the kitchen table. "They'll need this more than I will." I whisper, imagining the beautiful girl wearing my new nightie, her blonde curls cascading down her back.

The red leather jacket catches my eye again, and I realize it must be hers. Who was she anyway? How many times had she visited this apartment, hanging her jacket on that hook?

Suddenly, I can't breathe and my heart begins to race. I hear a thump and see Yamcha emerging from the bedroom, now wearing jeans, but instead of waiting around to hear his excuses, I leave

I finally reach the lobby of the apartment complex and enter into the cold streets of Satan City. Chills snake across my body as I gasp in the biting December air. I contemplate hailing a Taxi, but decide against it. I'd rather be alone, and Capsule Corps is only a few blocks away.

The memories subside. I open my eyes to find a strange, grief stricken woman reflected in the mirror. "Why, Yamcha?" I ask myself. "Why?"

"Why wasn't I good enough!" I slam my fist on the dresser; a few things fall to the floor.

I can't remember how I got home that night; only that I awoke the next morning to the smell of harsh chemicals and a mess of curly hair. The rest of the week has been a blur.

Sinking to the floor, I put my head in my hands. After all those years…Yamcha and I had been together since we were teens. True, we were separated on and off through that time, but every relationship has bumps in the road. This wasn't even his first indiscretion. I expected at least few lapses of judgment on his part, after all, no one is perfect. Each time I forgave and forgot. Soon, however, it became a routine for him. But I thought if I stopped mentioning it and pretending it didn't happen, he'd come to his own senses. Sometimes you have to let men learn from their own mistakes.

And although he never alluded to the fact, I was certain that someday Yamcha would propose. He simply had to.

Things never changed and years passed that Yamcha didn't pop the question. Finally, one day I found myself twenty-seven years old, with no husband and no family. This wasn't how I imagined my life at nearly thirty!

Still, I pressed on with our relationship, praying to Kame that Yamcha would come around. All the time I invested, all the love…it had to be worth something.

Besides, who else did I have? Who else would take me? I may be rich, but I'm nothing special. Minimal intelligence and average beauty just don't get a woman very far.

Sighing again, I stand up to face the strange woman in the mirror. She's weary, but her makeup's perfect. She can't cry anymore; she's forgotten how.

Too many nights I have spent mourning the mistakes of my life. Too many days I have wasted on a man who doesn't even love me. I'm tired of not recognizing my own reflection. Even if I have to spend the rest of my life alone, this is the last time I'll allow Yamcha to hurt me.

________________________________________________________________________

BANG! BANG! BANG!

An inpatient, loud knock pervades the dead emptiness of my house. I can almost feel the walls shake, the furniture rumble.

_Not him. Not now._

Of course, it could only be one person banging at my door this early at the morning. One arrogant, inconsiderable person.

"I can't do this." I whine pathetically. "I can't…I can't…"

I squint my eyes at the harsh, hot morning sun pouring through my window. _What could he possibly want? _

With a huff, I reluctantly throw the soft comforter off and stare at the ceiling. "What are you looking at?" I bite, and then force myself out of bed. _Psh._ _Everyone's a critic_.

If a heap of matted curls and a broken heart wasn't enough, I HAD to add one more thing to my shattered mess of a life. Apparently inviting an egotistical mass-murderer with a devilish smirk and brooding eyes wasn't one of my smarter ideas.

_Thank you, Kame, for this wondrous turn of events, _I think sarcastically. Of course, I know I didn't have to invite him to stay with me. The words were out of my mouth before I even had a chance to think. He raised a dark eyebrow in question, but accepted without hesitance.

Something drew me to his mystery, his shadows, his past. Something I couldn't comprehend. In that moment, nothing else had mattered except offering him my home. I needed to figure him out. And even as I laughed and handed him that bright pink shirt, I imagined him opening up to me, telling me his every secret and deepest thought.

Needless to say, the feeling passed only moments later as I finally registered the enormity of my actions. Of course, by then it was too late to back down, else I look like a fool. Still, the prospect of living with a cold-blooded killer didn't seem so heavenly anymore. It seemed…maniacal. What made me say it? How could I ever conceive of this man being anything but a monster?

Luckily, he doesn't actually have to live in the same house with me. Capsule Corps is a rather large facility, covering over seventy-five acres of land. In the north wing is my parents' home, along with father's lab. In the east wing is the Capsule Corps Hall, where special events are held. In the west wing is the pool house and gravity room. And to the south, are a few smaller homes; one for me and one for our honored guest.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The knocking continues, growing louder and more violent as the moments tick by. "That man HAS to learn some patience." I murmur. _And I'm just the girl to teach it to him. _I smirk at the thought of the haughty Saiyan Prince pounding at my door all morning, never knowing that all the while I've incongruously slipped out the back door.

"Ahh, maybe I won't make him wait THAT long."

Shuffling through the house in my tattered pink bunny slippers and favorite florescent green robe, I do, however, take my time commencing with my daily morning ritual. Brush teeth, wipe black mascara smudge from under eyes, and turn on coffee pot. Hmm. Now, breakfast.

Just as I casually, swing open the fridge, my front door bursts from its hinges and lands with a thud on my brand new European marble floor. My heart clenches as a large crack snakes across the marble, along with several smaller cracks flowing from the epicenter.

And there, amidst the debacle, stands my personal black hole of happiness, otherwise known as Vegeta. His dark eyes are devoid of emotion, his face expressionless as he nonchalantly saunters through the rubble of my front hallway. He moves stealthy, with sinewy grace; his taut, shirtless frame is the symbol of male perfection.

Suddenly, his warm, hard body is only centimeters from mine and my back is pressed against the fridge. He silently places his hands on either side of my head, and leans in close. "It's dangerous to test me, woman." He growls quietly.

The skin on the back of my neck tingles, as if warning me to back down_. He's killed for less, _I think, but I know he'll never respect me if I give in too easily. He'll push me down and walk all over me. And I know, with a man like Vegeta, you don't get second chances.

Sure, I was frightened half to death the first time we met on Namek. But that was a different time, a different Bulma. And, yes, even a different Vegeta.

"You WILL be paying for that." I remark, my eyes never straying from his. By Kame, those eyes are deep, and black, gleaming with intelligence. I can almost imagine those same eyes, now filled with indifference, someday full something beautiful, something for me.

My daydreams end; a large, warm hand is on my cheek, gently stroking the skin there. A knowing smirk plays across his face. "Don't count on it." He sneers, then pushes my face away and disappears. _What?_

Suddenly, I gasp for breath; I hadn't been breathing that whole time. _Why did he touch me like that?_ And what did, "Don't count on it.", mean? Was he referring to paying for my demolished front door? Or…No. He couldn't possibly have heard my thoughts. Vegeta may be many things, but he is not a psychic. Absolutely not.

Right?

And of course, he didn't really disappear, per se. He phased. So, no. He's not magic.

He's just a man.

So why is my heart beating so fast?

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AN: Once again, please let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

So This is It?

As dramatic as the morning was, I could only hope the rest of the day would go a bit smoother. Nothing's worse than ruined European marble, right?

_You still have plenty of time to fuck up the rest of the day, Bulma._

Of course.

Still, I somehow managed to triumph over the morning traffic and make it to Capsule Corps' downtown headquarters, where all the business end of my father's work was done, unharmed. And a fashionable twenty minutes late, no less. Not that anyone would actually care or anything.

As "Head Event Coordinator" and " Daughter of Professor Briefs Himself" no one would take notice if I happened to, say, never show up for work again, much less be a mere twenty minutes late. Long story short, "Head Event Coordinator" was business for: "Rich Snobby Bitch With Too Much Time On Her Hands".

Really, the position was given to me by my father in attempt to make me, "Learn the value of hard work, Bulma, dear. And please, don't show up wearing a mini-skirt."

In truth, the job didn't require that I ever step foot in Capsule Corps' downtown headquarters. All the information I'd ever need about which charity ball to plan or which ceremony honoring some old geezer with caterpillars for eyebrows to announce could be done via e-mail or fax.

However, I liked to occasionally speak face- to-face with my coworkers, even if they did all secretly wish I'd be run over by an eighteen wheeler.

"Morning, Ms. Briefs," the secretary piped as I strode past. "You have two messages; one from the _Délicieux_ confirming tonight's reservation. And…" she searched her cluttered desk franticly a few moments, then: "Ah-ha, right where I left it, as usual. Umm, it's from Yamcha. He says he'd like you to call him as soon possible. Oh, and it seems that the reservation for the restaurant is for you and him, by the way." She smiled.

Delilah happened to be the one and only person here who actually seemed to like me. She was a very pretty girl, fresh from college. A bit timid and reserved, but very efficient, if not always organized. She peered at me through wire-rimmed glasses, her brunette hair swept into a tight bun at the back of her head. "Your hair," she breathed. "It's…It's…well, I love it!" she exclaimed quietly. "It suits you." She smiled again, and I laughed. "Well, it seems you're the only one." I said, self-consciously checking my hair in the reflection of a nearby framed picture on the wall. Ugh. Still a mess.

"Oh, I don't believe that!" she whispered. "I'm sure Yamcha just loves it! I mean a guy just doesn't take any girl to the _Délicieux_, after all. I hear only the biggest celebrities can get in on such short notice."

"You'd be surprised." I muttered through a forced smile. Yamcha just might take any girl to _Délicieux_; even one who wore a tacky red leather jacket.

"Actually, I'd like you to cancel that reservation tonight. I really would just like a night of relaxing. You know, better yet..." I said, grinning, "why don't you take my place? I've been there dozens of times."

"What? I could never! I mean…Oh my gosh, what would I wear? Wait, I don't have that kind of money!" Her eyes were wide with excitement and surprise.

"Oh, put it on the company credit card. A new outfit and everything. You have a copy, right?"

"Well, yes but…"

"Please, I'll be offended if you don't."

"Well….alright!" she grinned. "Thank you so much, Ms. Briefs. I can never repay you."

"As a matter of fact," I said, as I began walking toward my office, "you can. If Yamcha decides to call again, please tell him that I personally said to bend over and shove that phone of his right up his ass."

________________________________________________________________________

Dark shadows began to creep through my office window as night twisted its gloomy grasp around Satan City. Sometimes the name just seemed so fitting. It really did feel like hell here.

I stare blankly at the pictures on my desk, all in gold frames, gilded and gleaming like fantastic jewels. All so fake, only an imitation of the real thing. Not the actual gold frames, mind you. Just the people staring back at me with those goofy camera smiles.

Some of them were pictures of friends, family. Goku and his wife and son at some theme park with mouse ears on. Mom and dad at Christmas last year, with specks of freshly fallen snow still glittering in their hair and on their clothes. Even one of Krillin and that old bat Master Roshi, each holding a precious dragon ball and grinning.

The majority, however, were of Yamcha and I. Most were taken at funny angles, the camera all askew because I was holding it as far as my arm could stretch and still trying to smile like I meant it. And once where I thought I'd seen a gleam of love in Yamcha's eyes, now appeared more like…what? I couldn't even put my finger on the word; I only knew it felt so false.

Now it seemed all those yesterdays were in vain, for nothing. I tried to think back to some moment, _any_ moment in which Yamcha and I were together that was real and actually meant something.

I find myself unable.

I finally leave the office around 10:30 pm, long after the last person, even the janitor, has gone home. My mascara is smudged at the creases of my eyes and I know every ounce of foundation that I applied this morning (which, oddly, seems a million years ago) is gone. I don't even attempt to check my hair. I think I've given up on it.

Truly, this has been the first day since I was a teenager that I've sat for hours and have done absolutely nothing but think. No, not even think. _Dwell_.

I arrive home nearly 30 minutes later and give a faint smile at the new oak door that greets me as I walk up the steps to my house. Finally, something is right, and fixed and perfect. _Now, if only you could fix the rest of your fucking life, Bulma._

I unlock the door and cringe at the deep crack in my beautiful marble floor that slithers through my foyer. _Shit_.

"Guess we can't have it all." I mutter, sliding off my black pumps and pinstriped suit jacket, letting them land where they may. The answering machine blinks angrily at me from the darkness, and I ignore it and continue through the house. Moonlight streams through the windows in the living room, making silver puddles on the red suede couches.

I'd successfully pulled off my crème-colored lace camisole and began unzipping my skirt when I suddenly felt a presence behind me and gasp as a warm body is pressed against my back. Strong arms curl around my waist and I can feel someone's moist lips on my ear. "Did I scare you?" he whispers, in low dulcet tones.

Vegeta!" I cry, recognizing his voice instantly. "What the fuck are you doing here? Get off me!" I struggle a few moments until he abruptly releases me and I stumble into the wall. I stand up and flip the switch nearest me and bright light floods the living room. He's standing there, eyebrows raised and arms folded, bemusement toying with the edges of his full lips.

"What?" I snarl, trying not to notice his, once again, bare chest. "I said what are you doing here? And what the hell are you staring at?"

He smirks, and lets his eyes roam the entire length of my body. Suddenly, I remember. "Holy shit, Vegeta! Were you just going to stand there while I'm half naked?!" I rage, re-zipping my skirt and desperately trying to find something to cover my barely-clad breasts.

"It wasn't bothering me." he said simply, still in the same arms-crossed position.

"Well, isn't that a surprise? A man not bothered by a woman in her bra!" I snap, as I pick up my laced camisole from behind the couch and pull it over my head.

"Listen, you…you _jerk_," I hiss pathetically, hoping he doesn't realize how truly shaken I was by his arms around me, his lips so close to mine. "Maybe you hadn't realized it, but this is_ my_ house, not yours. You can't just come and go as you please. How did you even get it?"

"I'm here about that damned gravity room, woman. It seems the fucking thing has blown a circuit again. I need you to fix it. Now."

"What? Vegeta, it's nearly midnight, for Kame's sake. And besides, that's sort of my father's expertise, not mine. In the morning, you can go to him and get it fixed, okay? So, please, just go." I said, motioning toward the door.

"No."

"No? What do you mean, no? Damnit, Vegeta, I don't have time or the patience for this. Good night."

"I'm here, on this disgusting shit hole of a planet, for one reason, woman." Vegeta began, eyes serious, lips thinned. "I'm here to train, to save this fucking place. And you don't have time for that? Well, I promise you that when the Androids come and crush you and your family like the sniveling little creatures you are, you'll wish you'd spent a little extra time on that fucking gravity room!"

He was unbent now, arms at his side, fists clenched. I was amazed. Actual emotion from the King of Darkness himself.

"It's funny you should say that, Vegeta. It's funny that you, of all people, are trying to give me a guilt trip! Now you want to act all glorified?! Well, you're about ten thousand murders too late for that. Where was all your fucking compassion when you were trying to kill my friends and destroy the entire planet of Namek for your own selfish needs?"

Now I was the one unbent. Silence rang through the house as Vegeta and I did our best to stand each other down.

"Don't mistake me, woman. I never said I gave a shit whether or not you and your idiotic people were wiped from this universe. It might do us a bit of good. Obligation is not the same as compassion." He said quietly, eyes rapt on mine.

"Obligation, huh? Please, Vegeta, we all know why you're here. We humans are the closest thing left to your own people. Deep inside, you're just like the rest of us: afraid."

_Where did that come from? _It seemed words were just spilling from my mouth, unchecked.

Then, Vegeta did the oddest thing. He started laughing. Not a chuckle or a snigger; a full on maniacal laugh that shook his whole body. I could only cock my eyebrow at him and wonder if this guy really was as crazy as he looked.

I was almost frightened.

Suddenly, he was in my face, no longer laughing, or smiling. He grabbed my chin in one large hand and leaned in so that we were nose to nose. "Never, _ever_ attempt to understand me, woman. I'm not your little fucking science project, nor even your pathetic boyfriend Yamcha. Save your egotistical analyzing for him."

He released me, and moments later I heard the front door slam.

I collapsed on the couch, my body feeling too heavy and tense to move. Maybe I was wrong about Vegeta. Maybe I was the insane one.

Because, despite all that just happened, all I could think about was Vegeta being so close I could almost taste him.

_______________________________________________________________________

I awaken the next morning to the sound of the alarm clock blaring in my ears. _Just fifteen more minutes, Kame, that's all I ask, _I plead silently. _Of course, if you really are already bothering with time-alteration, could also just do me a tiny favor and fix this mop of blue-hair, because that would be greatly appreciated…_

Ugh. Sometimes I surprise even myself with my idiocy.

Amid these early-morning babbles, I somehow manage to get myself appropriately dressed and walking out the door somewhat on schedule. By the time I am at my desk downtown, steaming coffee in hand, I can't help but replay last night's scene with Vegeta in my living room, his eyes dark and glittering, only inches from mine. _What is this guy's deal, anyhow? Barging into my house, as if he owned the place… _

My brooding thoughts are suddenly interrupted by Delilah as she rattles off the morning report. _Honestly, what could have happened that was so important from last night to this morning? _

"Oh…and, Ms. Briefs, I have to thank you so much for generously allowing me your reservation last night, and for the outfit. And, well…Eric, he loved it all too and, he even proposed! I'm getting married!" This last part was not much more than a squeal, but the true look of joy was so evident on Delilah's face that I did my best not to wince. She continued gushing about her matrimonial plans a while longer and I managed to muster out a few _Oh really?_'s and _How wonderful!_'s, before the phone rang and she had to excuse herself to answer it.

Truly, I am happy for Delilah. I met Eric at last year's office Christmas party, and the guy seemed nice, if somewhat bookish. _At least he's not fucking red-leather wearing blondes, unlike your boyfriend, Bulma. At least __she__ isn't going to live the rest of her life alone and pathetic, with nothing to show for her years but wrinkles and a few tainted memories!_

My stomach clenches in knots and I press my fingers to my temples. _This can't be happening to me. _My eyes roam over those same gold-framed photos on my desk, the ones with Yamcha and I, and I pick up the closest one and stare into in_, _as if its depths could give me all the answers. _Why wasn't I pretty enough? Or smart enough? Why did I waste so many years…_

Of course, the photo reveals nothing more than my own reflection in its glass-covered surface. And with that, I suddenly find myself with a roomier desk-top and a fuller trash can.

________________________________________________________________

That evening, a few friends and I decide to head to _The Underground_, one of Satan City's most upscale and fashionable clubs. After the ceremonial _oohh's _and _ahh's _about my new hair, the girls and I order drinks from the bar and take a seat in a private area of the club. The music thumps loudly amid the twinkling lights and I find myself somewhat distracted as my friends begin to catch up on the latest gossip, rant about their husbands' newest annoying habit, and rave about little Timmy's new tooth or little Sara's first steps. I smile at the appropriate moments, but mostly sip my martini in silence, hoping no one will notice if I don't contribute to the conversation.

I long-ago noticed the distance growing between myself and my circle of friends. Five years ago, a night such as this occurred nearly three or four times a week, with each of us full of energy as we danced wildly together and laughed about our boyfriends' latest antics. And I fit in perfectly. As the years went by, however, the boyfriends turned into husbands and the couples turned into families, and our girls' nights dwindled to a couple of times a month. Still, even though I didn't have a ring on my finger or any children to brag about, I found myself interested in my friends' lives because I had hope that _sometime _soon, my day would come and I would be right along with them. Surely, Yamcha will propose soon, they all said. I bet he's just waiting for just the right moment.

_You were a fool, Bulma. No one will ever want to marry you. You are a pathetic loser._

Suddenly, it becomes too hot in the over-crowded club. My heart is beating wildly and my breaths are coming in gasps. "I…I think I need to go." I stammer, and quickly grab my purse and press through the noise and chaos of the club until I finally burst through the doors. Cold, February air slaps my face as I step out, and I notice it has begun to snow. The streets of Satan City are empty, everyone warm and in the place where they belong. _Where do I belong? Is this it for me? Is this how my life ends? Cold and alone?_

Right here, at this moment, I am almost glad the Androids are coming. Let them rip this place apart, and put me out of my fucking misery.

I don't even bother with a cab. I slosh my way through the snow, almost assuredly ruining my Versace boots, which I cannot wait to rip off when I finally reach home. Although it takes thirty minutes with traffic to my house from downtown Satan City, in reality, it's only a ten-minute-walk.

So what if I die of pneumonia when I get there? Maybe Kame will be merciful and some errant car will come along to plow me down. I can just imagine the death announcement in the papers: Nearly middle-aged woman was run over last night after leaving a club alone. She had no husband, no children, a laughable job that her father gave her because she could do nothing else, and her hair looked like she stuck her finger in an electrical socket!

Unfortunately, Kame was not in a merciful mood this night, and I did manage to make it home alive. As I walked up the drive to my house, I noticed the lights on in Vegeta's Gravity Room. _Kame, does this man ever give it a rest?_

I begin brooding further about idiotic saiyan princes when suddenly I remember just how ticked-off I am about Vegeta's actions the past two days. Number One: my busted door _and_ my beautiful broken European marble floors, which have yet to be replaced, and Number Two: his sneaking into my house and watching me undress in my own living room!

_Well, My Glorious Prince of the Saiyan Planet Which No Longer Exists, two can play at that game._

_And play it I shall._

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It's funny how much knowledge of super-technology you unconsciously pick up when you have a genius father who is wont to spout mathematical calculations and formulas at his discretion, which is to say, whenever he pleases.

Which is basically how I found myself rewiring the entire circuit for the Gravity Room, not ten minutes after reaching the conclusion that Vegeta was in need of a dose of his own medicine. It was actually quite simple, and I found myself strangely familiar with the technology, as if I had been working with it my entire life. In truth, I was a little proud of myself. Who knew I had such skills?

Therefore, once my goal was completed and the circuit box closed, I stepped aside and waited patiently at the doors of the G.R. for the outcome of my work. Not two minutes later a vicious howl erupted from inside, and although there was a smirk on my face, I did have the good grace to wince for Vegeta's sake.

Another thirty seconds passed by, and suddenly the Gravity Room doors burst apart from their hinges and I found myself ducking to the ground to avoid getting hit by the debris. Half a second later, and my back was pressed to the ground, my hands were pinned above my head and I could feel Vegeta's heavy weight as he covered my body with his. He was incredibly hot atop me, his skin so feverish that I could feel the heat of it as it seared through my clothes. I opened my eyes to find his angry, black ones fixed so intently into mine that it took my breath away.

"What. Did. You. Do?" His voice was quiet, but forced, and still his eyes never moved from mine.

I swallowed hard and opened my mouth to speak, but before I could utter a word, Vegeta's lips were crushed against mine with so much force that I could not attempt to react. When I finally got a hold of my senses, my first instinct was to fight him away, but his powerful hands held mine perfectly still with what seemed like almost no effort. I struggled against him as his lips raked over mine and I opened my mouth to scream, but he took that very moment to press his tongue inside my mouth and suddenly I could fight it no longer, because I could _taste him. _And it was the most delicious thing my mouth had ever experienced.

As if my lips had a mind of their own, they were now moving along with Vegeta's. _What the hell is wrong with me? What am I doing?_ But I couldn't stop, and it seemed like neither could he, until he finally ripped himself away from my body. I opened my eyes to find myself alone on the ground and suddenly very cold, and Vegeta standing above me, his back turned.

"Fix it," he demanded harshly, and with that, was gone.

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**AN: Once again, your reviews are greatly appreciated. : D**


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